


New Moon

by ohCaptain (AngryPirateHusbands)



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Established Relationship, M/M, Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 01:06:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10933788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngryPirateHusbands/pseuds/ohCaptain
Summary: Thomas discovers the crescent moon Flint immortalized on his bicep.





	New Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt by ryuutsu on Tumblr.  
> If you have any requests, let me know!

The touch of Thomas’ fingertips couldn’t have been any lighter than that of a feather. Even so it was more than enough to stir Flint from where he had been teetering at the very edge of sleep. Or rather, the closest thing to it he had been able to manage since he was first exiled from England. Since he had taken up the mantle of Captain Flint –a man who now, technically speaking, should no longer even exist– and begun to forge his path of not only retribution, but redemption. Normally when he closed his eyes at night he would be awoken by the screams of those he killed. He would smell the gunpowder from his canons, the putrid smoke of the burning ships that were left in their wake. He would taste the blood that had splattered across his face. The bitterness of iron. Bullets, swords, canons, chains. It was the taste of war itself. 

These were the sensations –the memories– that normally haunted him. That caused Flint startle awake in the dead of night with a pounding heart and skin damp with sweat. But not now. Now, it was not from some nightmare that he stirred against the sheets, but from the gentle touch of a lover. Of Thomas. The man for whom this entire war began. A thing born of love and sought revenge, fueled by rage, and ended by a medley of the very same.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” Thomas’ voice was soft, and when Flint shifted onto his back he could better see the apologetic look reflected in those clear blue eyes. Even so his touch remained. The man’s palm trailed over his bicep, his thumb stroking over his shoulder before he traced the pattern of a crescent moon with his forefinger. “This is new,” he offered after a moment.

“It’s actually quite old.” Almost immediately Flint regretted the words, the bitterness that resided within his tone. He knew what Thomas had meant. That it was new to him, that he hadn’t had it before… Well, _before_.

Flint wet his lips –suddenly feeling as though he had just spent another several weeks in the Doldrums– before speaking again. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. What for exactly, he wasn’t certain. There were far too many things for him to realize, let alone list. He was sorry for not going after Thomas. For not trying to save him. He was sorry for believing the lie that he had been sent to Bedlam Hospital in the first place. For being unable to protect Miranda from the so-called _friend_ that had betrayed them all not once, but twice. For allowing himself to be overcome with rage and heartache. For almost throwing it all away. He was sorry for everything.

“It’s alright, James,” Thomas assured him. Despite the years that had passed, despite the way he had labored and toiled in bondage by the order of his own father, the smile that rested on his lips was just as warm as it had always been.

Flint knew that he forgave him. Not the things that had happened to them, for they were nothing less than autocracies, but _him_. When Flint next released a breath it left him with the force of a punch to the chest. He didn’t say anything as he gathered Thomas’s hand in his own and intertwined their fingers. There were no words he could possibly offer to convey just how he felt in this moment. How thankful he was Thomas was alive. That he was here with him, now. That he could once again peer into those pools deeper than the skies above and the sea below. That he could feel the warmth of his skin, the tickle of his breath. That he could hear his voice. 

There were no words. After all, there was a part of Flint that still believed this was nothing but a figment of his imagination, a cruel tease of heaven before he was inevitably dragged down to the depths of hell. For it was there that he surely belonged. There were no words. And so Flint was silent as he raised Thomas’ hand to his lips, instead pressing a tender kiss to each of his knuckles. He could only hope the gesture would be enough to voice the words he couldn’t speak. If not the press of his lips, then the tears that wet down his cheeks. 

Thomas’ hands were rough, now. They had been hardened by years of work beneath the unforgiving sun. By betrayal. But even so, these hands… God, how he loved them. How he loved _him_. Already he had spent many a night simply committing each new line to memory. He mapped out every wrinkle, every scar, every tiny freckle. Thomas was both his map and his compass, and he loved him for it. He would not allow them to be separated again, for if they were he was doubtful his heart could weather it.

Green eyes slipped shut as Thomas’ hand cupped his jaw, the man gentling him the same way he had done so many years ago. It seemed effortless, even now. A caress against his cheek, soft and steady, before those fingers traveled upward to explore his shorn head. The dull scrape of fingernails against his scalp. The way that hand slid down to massage the base of his neck.

“I like it,” Thomas eventually offered, a soft chuckle moving through him. “Very becoming.” The gentle timbre of his voice grounded him, reminding Flint that Thomas was truly here, that he was safe. “When did you get it..?”

Flint swallowed as he finally managed to regain his voice. “Back when I first became Captain,” he answered after a moment. “A few months after arriving on Nassau’s shores… Hal–” He paused. “My quartermaster, at the time… convinced me that it was important to ‘look the part’.”

Thomas hummed. That smile was still on his lips, and Flint couldn’t help but notice the way that gaze flitted over to his ear. No doubt he was deducing that the tattoo had appeared about the same time, and for the same reason, as the piercing. Even so he didn’t mention it. Instead he asked another question. “Is there any meaning behind it?”

Flint nodded slowly. “There is,” he murmured, his fingers still lazily playing with Thomas’ where they were intertwined. “The crescent moon… I thought it was appropriate. The end of one cycle and the seamless beginning of another. Of a new moon. The death of James McGraw and the birth of Captain Flint.. It seemed to make sense, at the time.”

“And now..?”

“Now… Now I realize it was foolish to try and separate the two of them in the first place.” Flint shook his head then as he sighed. “Pretending that ‘Captain Flint’ was nothing more than a guise, a mere character to be created and used, then promptly discarded once he had fulfilled his purpose. It made it easier… The killing. To think it was this other man’s doing instead of my own.”

“James.” The softness of his tone was enough to coax Flint from the brewing darkness of his thoughts. “ _I know you,”_ he soothed _._ “You are righteous fury, you are rage. But you are also endless love. You are courage, you are truth, and I love you. _All of you._ Your accomplishments, your mistakes and your regrets. Everything.”

Once more a breath rattled free from Flint’s chest. It shook through him with the force of a ship caught at the center of a hurricane. Still, Thomas’ mere company was enough to settle him. Those lips were soft when they touched against his own not moments later. “I love you.”

I love you.

_I love you.  
_

_May we never part again._


End file.
